Titanium
by BumbleLellie
Summary: How long does it take Daryl to realise he needs Beth as much as she needs him? There's more to the Daryl and Beth friendship than we see- through Daryl's eyes we'll see the (made-up) missing moments between the end of season 3 to the current show. It will be a slow-burn Bethyl but dont be put off, it appeals to any lover of their freindship as well.
1. Chapter 1

**_Ridiculously lengthed A/N: So I'm embarking on a new venture! _**

**_This is a slow-burn Bethyl, that will be relatively close to the series but with some 'unseen' moments between the two, however, it does defiantly start as a friendship fic if you're not into the Bethyl-i-ness. I intend to update every few days- week at the most- and have a whole first ten chapters planned so it's just a case of writing. (proof I'm committed) I know I may have left my other stories too long to feel attached to where I was when I was writing them and so I will finish them but for now the inspiration isn't there. So I apologise. _**

**_I'm super excited for this, so I would really appreciate any feedback- I even take constructive or mean comments into account so if you hate it tell me why! Likewise good feedback boosts my esteem and makes me type faster ;)_**

**Prologue**

A seed of panic was growing in his stomach, it started the second he saw the car drive off. For unknown reasons, and it was always unknown reasons with Beth, his legs began to follow. Desperation overcoming the exhaustion. He was too far behind to follow; only a man against a car. And he had no way of possibly being able to save her, she could be anywhere, with anyone. But he had to. He owed her that much. And maybe the truth of the matter was that after all that had happened in his long life- he needed her.

**The Prison- Part One**

Friendships can come from as little as a thank you in the right place.

It had been a hard week, new people from the governor's sick rule had taken a massive blow to their resources, much more than anyone had anticipated. The salvaged goods from Woodberry had run out barely a fortnight in, and that's when it became clear that runs would have to become more frequent, further afield and extra-rationing was going to become a necessary hardship for them all to bear. Of course, this hit Daryl the hardest.

He had been going backwards and forward for too many days, trying to salvage anything he could from the woods or nearby places on Rick's orders of not going too far afield in case any of the disgruntled new members tried anything. That was another problem in itself, Rick's paranoia, his half-arsed leadership stemming from on and off days. The man was, quite frankly in this moment, losing it. But that's what a world of resurrected dead people did to you, Hershel had become a necessary compass for the group, stepping up whenever Rick couldn't or inadvertently talking the man back to sanity in spare time. He gave Rick the idea of raising the piglets and starting his own little vegetable patch- advice only a farmer could give.

It was clear by this point that Daryl's sympathy for the man had just about cleaned out. In fact, just about everyone was making ridiculous requests of him and he was getting sick and tired of it. He couldn't remember the last whole night's sleep he got, heck, he could barely remember anything more than three fragmented hours at any time. He hurt all over from the exertion and constant neediness of stupid ass stupid people who couldn't fend for themselves. He was over this. He was over everything.

''Pookie, have some stew.'' Carol squeezed his shoulder, but he shrugged her off with a grunt and snatched the mug from her ungratefully. He might have felt bad at her crestfallen face, but he didn't. Carol would understand, and out of anyone here he gave her the nicest reply possible for the physical contact. Not to mention the stupid name, stupid woman.

He ate the stew quickly, hating the buzz of the cafeteria space with its high-school table layout. He sat alone, mostly because of the glares he gave anyone who came by and the knowledgeable rumours that had spread warnings about crossing him. The Woodberry lot didn't like him much, but then again what did he care not like he didn't anything but everything for them. Great, he was winding himself up. He more or less threw the bowl and spoon into the sink when he was done, not caring about the dull thud it made and started his way out. The kitchen was hustling with taking pots back and forth from the sink, dishing out meals and the general bustle of community. It served to annoy him more.

Just before the door he saw the youngest Greene girl struggling with a tin opener and a tin of fruit, the small bowl and plastic spoon instantly clued him into the intended infant recipient of this meal, so he felt somewhat obliged to fill in the gap of Judith's tummy if her primary care taker wasn't even tough enough to fight with tinned pear. Seriously, where was Rick?

Stupid pathetic kid, guess he'll have to help her do that too. Fucking people, can't even open a tin without him. He walked over heavily, swearing under his breath till his shadow fell across her. He didn't feel guilty about snatching the tin out of her hands, even at the surprised gasp she admitted. Opening it gruffly in a few seconds he pushed it back into her vacant hands so it pressed against her chest a bit too forcefully. Her back arched a little at the pressure and a bit of juice splashed a small dark circle on her vest top.

''Thank you, Daryl.'' Her lips barely moved but there a small genuine smile on her lips that threw him off. It vanished upon the glare he accidentally gave her whilst observing this fact. Maybe it's a real show of the ingratitude of the others that the simple thanks of one girl threw him right off track.

''What?'' He snapped at her, and she involuntarily took a half-step back, her eyes glazing his face uncertainly. The wary nature would have, on enough sleep and in a better mood, left him musing on how she spooked like a horse. But right now it served to piss him off for exaggerating his inaptitude for dealing with humans and the amplification of the gap between him and the rest.

''Well- thank you for helpin-'' it was credit to the kid for pursuing in her explanation; bravery or stupidity.

''You think I care about yer 'thank yous', girl?''

He heard some small sound of confused protest from under her breath, but didn't wait around long enough to find out what exactly she was going to say to the explosive response. Instead he marched off back to the tower where he had another six hours to kill alone, waiting for the impending nothing to attack. At least it was an easy job, only meaning he had to talk to or even see people at the beginning of the shift and the end, but still it required remaining awake.

The first couple of hours passed slowly. He settled to watching the darkness take over and stewing on his angsts of the entire remaining human race, trying to come up with reasons for why he was even staying in this place. He had no ties to these people. He didn't owe them anything either (heck they owed him). But on the other hand, he had been adopted into a dysfunctional family, and now his entire real family was gone anyway. Not to mention he owed them his loyalty- he guessed Rick at least (even if he was being a pain at the moment). Even worst was the overwhelming reason to stay; he was afraid to leave and face this alone. And Dixon's ain't scared of nothing. So he shoved it down into some repressed place as soon as the voice of reason spoke up, choking it on his hate and pride instead so he could pretend he was staying here as an act of superior loyalty. Yes, that was it- they couldn't cope without him, that's why he would stay.

God, this job was killing him. The thoughts were making him angrier, but they helped him stay awake, eyes fixed on some invisible point in the distance. He sat on the hard floor, deciding it was too risky to allow any comfort to lull him into a fake security slumber. There was a small shuffle on the stairs, the sound of someone slowly making their way up to the tower. Best case scenario it was a walker and he could take out some of this angst, worse case it was someone from Woodberry asking for something from the next run as if they were allowed to make a shopping list. But the slight noise was more like a woman- so Carol or china man.

He was wrong, the small blonde popped her head around the door, holding a cup as if it were her own heart. The liquid trembled as her hands shook, but once again the smile was in place as if he hadn't just popped his corks on her earlier and stormed off like a toddler. He grunted I her direction.

''I brought you some coffee- it's black but I got sugar- if-if y'want-'' Beth placed the cup on a table that was somewhere half way between the door and where he was sat, as if it were some peace compromise. She kept her voice sweet and even but the slight breathlessness and fumbling in her pockets for sachets of sugar gave her away.

''What makes you think I want that'' he sneered, but his rude snub was totally negated by him standing up stiffly and putting two sugars in the coffee before picking it up and sitting back onto his original position.

''Well- I thought you might be tired and to say thanks again, though I know you don't care, and sorry for upsetting you.'' She breathed a bit too heavily out her nose, biting her lip a little bit as f she were unsure of her own intentions.

''I ain't upset at you.'' It came out a bit too fiercely to be believable, and once again he thought of himself as a giant toddler. His throat made an involuntary noise of irritation before he looked up, straight into her unshielded blue eyes. ''Look, girl- I ain't. Ok? I'm just tired.''

She nodded slowly, gave a small smile that nearly hid the terror in her face and left silently. Leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Well, he thought, I couldn't have been more of a dick if I tried.

It was a couple of days after that in his even worse mood from even more of a lack of rest he came in from a hard days hunting with the full intention of going to bed and hibernating no matter what came at him, or tried to bite him. He couldn't remember feeling so exhausted, at least not without his father or Merle being somehow involved. He was just near library when he passed the small blonde coming out holding a book, she gave him a tiny smile and walked ahead of him, rounding the corner. He glared back.

''Have you seen Daryl? I need him to cover my fence duty-'' he heard Maggie's voice from around the corner and groaned inwardly, knowing he had been caught with his hopes up of a good rest. He waited idly for Beth to give him away continuing the slow march to the corner when he heard the small thing pipe up.

''Oh uh-huh- he went to see daddy in the other cell block.'' He could practically hear the honey dripping in her voice, knowing she was forcing a small grin and pretending to think, when in reality her innocent heart would be pumping for the lie and adrenaline shooting through her for the unlikely deception she was causing. Rookie.

But it worked, Maggie called something and began a fast pace down the hall back from where she had come from, her bots slapping on the tiles and echoing down until he knew she was gone. Beth had resumed walking too at a calmer pace and he quickened his to tap her on the shoulder and confront her face to face. It then dawned on him how tiny Beth really was.

''What was that for?'' It was an angry whisper in reality; a stunned question in his head.

''You need to sleep, she can do her own duty.'' Beth shrugged as if it was the weather she was talking about, turning and walking away from him at a convincingly normal speed.

''I thought I said I don't need your help!'' He called after her, his temper somehow impeded for her quick-thinking. Perhaps it was the implication that he looked as tired as he felt. Or that of the entire prison only she had noticed.

''It's okay, Daryl. You're welcome.'' She smiled and waved casually in his direction, going into her cell. He was tempted to follow but instead rushed off to his bed, kicking his shoes off and cursing that tiny bitch for assuming she knew what he wanted. He lay on the welcoming embrace of his mattress, where instantly he felt grateful to the beautiful angel that was Beth Greene.

Nearly one week later, he was back on the watch in tower, sighing in defeat of the whole thing. It would settle down and he was getting bored of his insults to the people, and too tired to think of any new original ones. Instead he had taken to glaring at everyone and refusing to offer any help at all even when the council looked at him exclusively, choosing instead to force them into asking him. Had he any less heart he would have said 'no', if not for the entertainment value, then a deserved day or so off.

But bygones were becoming bygones, the space he needed had been granted in a run further afield that let him take a night off in an old hut before working his way back the next day. The space was necessary and anytime not surrounded by people was a real joy, in fact tower duty was a wonderful escape from the crowded cell blocks and constant continuance of living humans to just be there.

Which is why he was surprised to not find himself pissed upon hearing the small shuffling noise of feet on the steps to the tower, in fact he was mostly curious what the illusive Beth Greene could possibly want from him this time. Sure enough she came around the door, a light blue shirt ruffling in the open breeze and an open smile on her face.

''I brought coffee, two sugars are in it already.'' As if to indicate her success she lifted it up to him, slowly creeping to where he was sat to pass it to him. He grunted some form of appreciation and went back to staring at the horizon, waiting for her to bring up a request or job she wanted doing.

Instead she turned as silently as she came up the stairs and walked toward the door.

''Hey- Beth-'' his voice was quiet but the girl made of quietness heard it and turned around, one hand poised on the door frame and back turned to him.

''Thanks.'' It was quiet and stark on it on, taking far too much energy to say to her for a cup of coffee. But she smiled absently at him anyway, continuing on her way, before she paused and looked over shoulder at him with a small mischievous wink.

''What makes me think I need your 'thank yous', Dixon?''


	2. Chapter 2

**_So I accidentally quoted the book thief in this 'marvellous' new chapter, props if you catch it. Thank you so much for the support already, and I have fixed a few buggy errors of my 'late night writing a summary as if it will be flawless''._**

**_The next chapter will most likely not be tomorrow as I have a degree to try and work towards as well as fangirl about the walking dead, hope you understand. _**

**_Hope you enjoy xxx_**

**The Prison- Part Two **

''I hate goodbyes.''

It was as open as he was going to get.

''Me too.'' Her voice was small and meek. Her wiry arms holding onto him, the perfect height for him to want to give in and rest his chin on top of her head, hold her close. He didn't know why. Somehow Beth was so un-asking of him he wanted to offer and provide everything that she'd need. She never begged him for time or stuff- in short she wasn't like these other arseholes. There was no ulterior motive. He liked that. Or, maybe, he respected that.

He wondered, occasionally, if she thought the same of him. Though, he took up her time with meaningless conversations there was never a sense that he was bothering her. Beth was an angel. That's what his mother would've said, in the specific voice women use to describe pushovers who take care of the baby and help feed the expanding family. She did what she was told with a surprising lack of fuss considering her age, seemingly happy to bow to her role and accept the responsibility of child having not had any of the fun of making it.

But this was a sad occasion, him telling her that the guy he'd pressured her to date was dead- partially because of him. Of course, she never said that it was his fault, hell, he'd be surprised if it had even crossed her too kind mind, but for him the guilt became this massive weight. He was heavier than before, dragging himself up to her cell made him feel like lead, and though others had offered to tell her- even Maggie- the sadistic punishing side of his brain said it was his job. Of course, Beth doesn't really respond with any emotion, though he senses it rising under her skin, and so on that front the punishment doesn't exist.

It's later when he walks past her cell from guard duty and hears the tell-tale sniffles that the punishment begins. It's been eleven hours since the news. It's been about an hour before the numbness wore off and pain of the world came crashing around her. He knocks gently, strumming his hands along the bars. She doesn't hear, and he's not surprised. He wants to call her name so he knows if he's allowed into the privacy of her grief, but it's stuck in his throat somewhere. Then he's angry, angry at himself. He walks away, grumbling under his breath at the injustice of it all- though he knows selfishly, he's feeling sorry for himself. Unable to show the stupid compassion when he so sorely wants to. Instead he takes it out on thinking about how it's the walkers' fault, Rick's fault and our lord in heaven's fault for never doing anything to make his life worthwhile.

Halfway down the hallway he stops, nearly at his own cell on the far side. He wants to go back, as if he's attached to a piece of string that's pulled taut. But what would he say? And would it even mean anything? He wasn't a teenage girl, had no idea what they needed and it wasn't really (- his own messed-up ideas aside-) his job to deal with. Yeah, let her daddy or her sister or Carol cheer her up tomorrow. They'd be expecting this anyway, probably have a plan in motion to turn her frown into a smile and fix it all. Satisfied for a mere moment, Daryl walked into his cell, shrugged off his backpack and placed it on the floor. Then he walked out again.

Stood outside her cell. For the third time that day the gravity of emotion felt like it was going to pull him through the concrete of that spot. He forced himself to shuffle in awkwardly, looking at the ground and still absolutely no idea what he was to say. The scuffle of his boots made her look up. Blonde hair around her shoulders, eyes puffy and red. There was mucus down her face and too white limbs stuck awkwardly from how tightly she'd tried to wind herself. He kept his damned mouth shut because the coping mechanism in his brain was trying to fire out jokes about how she didn't cry anymore. But sometimes, thankfully, words aren't needed.

Surprised as Beth Greene might have been upon seeing Daryl Dixon in her bedroom in the early hours of the morning, she was made of gold and bones like a bird. Weak and vulnerable, he watched her contemplate him for a moment and then outstretch her arms like a child might to its mother, her face screwed up with emotion. And she wasn't a pretty sight, damn near the most pathetic thing he had seen, but his legs walked over there anyway. He sat on the bed, holding her in the second hug of the day and patting her hair in a soothing awkwardness as a new wave of grief wracked her body in sobs. Listening to her laboured breathing, and feeling very out of place, he tried to let the long lost empathetic side of himself take control. He stayed there all night, dozing a little bit once she had exhausted herself, back against the wall and her body curled up on his legs. What had become of the mighty Dixon?

He wondered how she had got so close. Not as in the physical lack of barrier between them as she literally snored on him. His head fell back on the cool wall, his back hurt but risking moving Beth seemed like a crueller fate somehow. Instead he closed his eyes too, telling himself he was just taking a moment, when in reality the soft calling of Beth's warmth and memory welcomed him into unconsciousness.

_The weight of the world sat on Daryl's shoulders. Sometimes it felt like the burden was lifted with this adopted family they had created, that he could leave them to bear the weight while he had a glass of bourbon and smoke. Other times it felt he was the sole-owner of this thing, that he was left fighting alone against the barricades of the ignorant dead and the arrogant living. It felt like that now. _

_The sun was on its way to being set, not quite imminent, but the dusty sky stretched out pale gold and empty. The moans were second nature to him now, a background noise you tuned into when necessary. The swallowing pit of self-pity, of guilt and of depression was opening. He picked at it like a scab with in his head until he was burning hot with anger and had cooled back down again. He always enjoyed the numbness that came after. _

_Beth had somehow trudged behind him, sat herself heavily near him and resumed to breathe too heavily in his place of self-pity. He was pissed off. But her brows were furrowed, some emotion radiating of her straight back and squared-shoulders. _

_''awful sour face y' wearing.'' He muttered at her, the sarcasm dripping in his voice. But it was truth the look she shot him showed a frustration he had rarely seen cross the girl's face. He heard a small mutter of what could have been 'Maggie' or 'Daddy' catch in the wind, and her eyes narrowed to contemplate his face. _

_''Don't look too hot yourself.'' And that was all she offered, her eyes finished raking his face but for staring back at a fixed point in the herd of walkers. _

_And he was lost of what to say, because normally she did the talking. Or, rare times, perhaps he had something directly to say that he would impart and then leave. So he just made a low murmur, hitting his heel into the dirt gruffly and leaning back to look at the pathetic water-wash of yellow sky. _

_Silence._

_He could hear her breathing getting shallower and calmer with each passing minute. The shoulders loosened somewhat and he realised watching her calm down had unwound his own frustrations. _

_''Just tired of the shit.'' It surprised himself. Not the ineloquence of the sentence, as that was the only thing that told him it was his own voice, but the open answer. _

_Alright, so it wasn't the most informative or useful of descriptions. Providing little detail to Beth on how to fix the issue or give any real basis for a response. But somehow her being there was enough to make him feel a bit more human, and a bit ore tied to earth. He felt her unconsciously take some of the weight of the world. _

_''You just gotta look fer the good. Here, Glenn found 'em.'' She stood up, dusting her arse off graciously and then pulling out a crumpled box and throwing it to him. Seemingly finished with their, what can be described as a conversation, she walked back up to the prison alone. Daryl opened the packet of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it with a gratitude you only got for chemical addiction. _

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_''You're good with her y'know?''_

_He had been stood there a while. Ignoring the fact he was on fence duty and just back from a run he had come to drop off a gift for Judith. Beth was stood facing the wide yellow window of the common area of their cell block, talking in a soft voice to the child and bobbing her up and down on her hip. The sweet gentility of her voice had stopped him in his tracks, somehow lulling him from urgency into a sated calmness. The spell lasted until his priorities called the need for him to speak out._

_Beth looked over her shoulder, to see Daryl walking forward, she smiled graciously at him after a moment of thinking. Judith was waving one hand vigorously holding her pacifier, the other wrapped onto the front of Beth's t-shirt so her pale collarbone was on show. Beth, for her part, turned around and strolled carefully toward him, the sun hitting her back so the wild hairs hung around her illuminated like a wispy blonde halo. _

_Daryl looked at Judith, his lil' ass-kicker beamed back at him as if she knew the secret to his soft side. She was just beginning to make a series of burbling sounds, the baby words becoming stronger and more frequent. They all encouraged this learning of course, especially Beth who could be heard saying random words at the child every hour of the day. _

_''I ain't no mamma-''she sounded somewhat pensive, rocking the child instinctively closer to her with a hidden sigh of melancholy. Daryl wondered if she ever looked at Judith and imagined her as her own child in a different life, it seemed the kind of sappy shit Beth would do. Or maybe the child was just a constant reminder to her that the dreams and aspirations she once had weren't likely to be fulfilled anymore. It seemed sad, somehow, that this might be Beth's only baby. But in any case, it was undoubtedly her baby. _

_'Yes, girl, yeah you are.'' He brushed Judith's cheek lightly so that she showed a gummy smile, the dribble resting on her chin happily as she burbled, fists still wrapped on Beth's shirt. Daryl stepped back placing a small cloth toy on the bench and leaving as silently as he had come. _

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_There was one person missing from the Greene table. Normally this was no cause of alarm, but it was Wednesday, or they had decided at some point a week system that suggested today was the only Wednesday they were going to know. And midweek meant soup and crackers, a meal which happened to be a favourite of a certain blonde teen. And Beth wasn't there to collect her extra crackers from Carol. _

_It wasn't until later that Daryl understood where she had been, or rather he assumed that she had in fact been sat near the fence helping stab walkers by the fact she was sweating in the sun holding her latest book from the library in the company of a certain blonde Woodberrian. _

_The memory of it now hurt, hitting a bit too close to home, as Daryl imagined that white-beam smile that the boy couldn't take off his face. Zach was a portal to the last life. He was telling her about baseball, using one of the garden tools-turned-walker-spears as an impromptu bat, gesticulating wildly with his other hand as she smiled happily, her hands picking out the grass by her side idly. And she was grinning ear to ear as if his words were gold. It was like a picture, the two of them flirting helplessly as teenagers were meant to do but the world hadn't allowed. Until, that was, you saw the back drop of the dead and the redneck striding along toward them. _

_''Should get inside, I'm takin' over-'' his voice was gruff, but hell did he like to see them both jump and flip their heads to look at him in embarrassment, blushing furiously at the interrupted intimacy of that ever romantic spearing of walkers. _

_''Yes sir,'' the boy jumped into moving, staring at Daryl with a scary form of reverence he never quite understood the entire time he knew him. But he was a good kid, and hell if he didn't like being called 'sir'._

_''Uh girl- Beth-'' he called after her, doing a small hand signal to indicate she come over so he could hush down his voice. A subsequent glare was all that was needed for Zach to put two and two together a walk up the grassy hill, pausing at the top to wait for his detained interest. _

_''Yes, Daryl?'' Her voice came sweeter than honey, soft and breathless yet again as if she were fighting the unbreakable smile on her face. He imagined it's the same voice you might use with your daddy when a boy asked you to the prom. _

_But he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was giving out boy advice. _

_He searched her face a second, her eyes blinking lazily back at him in total comfort. She was dressed as usual, jeans and vest-top, a plaid shirt tied round her waist from the strk geoergia heat. If he were being very honest with the primal part of him he fought off ninety-eight percent of the time then he thought she could be wearing more clothing or something to that effect- but that was by the by and the boy had been captivated by the expression in her eyes and the laugh like sunshine. In short Beth was too innocent to look like she wore the sweaty white top as a ploy. _

_''Only thing worse than a boy who hates you is a boy who loves you, remember that.'' He nodded toward the lone figure on the hill, taking out a cigarette idly._

_''It's not like that- we're friends, Daryl-''she flipped her hair over her shoulder, and it was very apparent to him in her childish eyes, the way she bit her lip that she was only a young woman. She caught his eyes and sighed in defeat, her entire body deflating the falsehood, her voice getting small hinting at the repression inside her mind. ''Fine, so what? Not like there's any point of gettin' close right?''_

_Maybe it was because she looked so defeated, or that he genuinely did like both her and the boy. It made sense, like Barbie and the plastic man doll thing. There wasn't, at this point, much risk in a bit of harmless flirtation. Her daddy and Maggie sure as hell weren't going to encourage anything on that front, their protectiveness (somewhat hypocritical as far as Maggie was concerned) prevented her having anyone close. A bit of coaxing wouldn't be the end of the world, it was what teenagers were supposed to do- looking back now he wasn't sure exactly if he had changed his tune. _

_''Ain't you the one who told me to look for the happy things? He looks like a happy thing.'' Daryl shrugged her off and turned around shaking his head at the cluelessness of her age. _

_He heard her steps jog up the incline to where the boy had waited, she took a small look back at him, but Daryl had already picked up the discarded weapon, pushing it through the fence into stragglers eyes. _

There was a scream, followed by a chorus of panic strewn voices echoing through the halls. His eyes snapped open, Beth's own blonde head shifting upward sharply. They looked at each other; her lips were parted in confused panic, his set in a straight line. Both took a beeline of the bed, clambering through her cell door into the hallway where they parted, Beth instinctively running down to Rick's cell to find Judith, Daryl running fast the opposite way crossbow now in hand.

There was trouble brewing in the prison.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ So I'm really sorry this chapter isn't as long, but I have had a lot of uni work and also the social commitments of seeing, cooking for and entertaining flatmates and friends. Also, I like to think this chapter, due to its content can't be as long as the others, purely as it doesn't cover as much plot wise as perhaps I have before. Anyway, I shall see you all in an update at some point this weekend. _**

**_As always, thanks for the support!_**

**_The Take-over_**

He looked around. He turned to the walker stabbed it in the head, his eyes too busy combing through all the people for the specific one he cared about. A small step to left and he took down another man, the grunt more out of worried frustration than anything else.

He needed to save his family. That's all that crossed his mind in this moment. He had to fight and survive and get everyone on that fucking bus. The Governor himself, the total bastard would be taken care of- if not Rick or Michonne some other

Nothing had been right since the speckled-kid shower incident. The pestilence that swept the prison moved too swiftly, too silently for there to be any form of understanding. It all happened so fast. One minute he was wrapped in the warm memories of feeling human, and the next he was running down the hall to witness what becoming human had become. Death. Devastation. Undead cannibalism.

And all this change unsettled him. An impending feeling of doom came with each deterioration of their quality of life. Something big was coming, only this ridiculous bloodshed of a battle wasn't what he had expected. First the damn kid caused cell block D to be annihilated; families torn apart in safe walls and a chaos of panic infecting every stinky square inch of their home. Then the problems with the fence, its constant failings and fear of it breaking putting them all on edge. The continuation of healthy people collapsing into coughing bloody spew and dying. The murders of Karen and David. Carol.

He felt that blow like a new kick in the gut. It was the relatively new news that he was still processing with each stab and shoot of his arrows, his hands shaking with the vengeance of self-made dictatorship. She had been cast out, alone. And it upset him more than anything that the woman who understood him best wasn't here- but then, he thought begrudgingly, maybe that was for the best. It's true that Carol had proven she could hold her own, but it was, in a way, better she was far away from this equation. There were already too many people here he was afraid he was going to lose.

The second he resolved his content with Carol having been cast out to miss the heinous folly of man, he moved onto the next group of people to save. Evening the odds wasn't going to be easy. Not easy but not impossible. The higher ground advantage that they had, the fence and the escape plans were all good- but their use was pivotal of being harnessed correctly. And that, well that required some way of communicating to the masses. The Governor's men had thrown down the fences and were on equal grounding with their own men, a mix of survivors killing survivors.

And they had a tank. The spark of imagination, a little voice of calm calculation spoke out about evening the playing field. As if his imagination was running in real time the explosion of a grenade in the tank startle him as much as the people around him.

He shot a man in the head, miserable for the need but feeling it was the most merciful option, bowing wounded just made you target from the third army- the army of the resurrected walkers cashing in on the warm bodies and distracted panic. Had Daryl been a religious man- the thought sucked his gut in uncomfortably as an image of Hershel entered his mind- he would say a prayer for the man. But that was by the by and Daryl made a choice of which one of them got to live, and which one got to die.

The bus was leaving, the silhouettes of frightened people just visible from the angle he was at. A sense of mixed emotions crossed him, a childlike urge to be part of the passengers; to be free and driving away to the safe place in company of shared pain. But an anger in him made him cease the moment smashing in the walkers' heads and trying to think of his own route out. They were overwhelmed only so long before the prison belonged to the walkers again, and why fight it? How could they live in a place where every view framed the place where Hershel was killed?

Beth.

Shit, in his worrying of Carol he forgot the other member of his direct family. Rick and Carol could look after themselves, but the kid? Oh shit, say she was on the bus. Of course she'd be on the bus, with Judith and the other kids crying about her poor, poor father. He'd do anything to undo the truth of the matter, but he hoped she had sucked it up and taken a dose of the Greene spirit with her.

But across the way, between the too many people dying and few still fighting, a flash of blonde hair swung with the momentum of the pathetic need to live. His peripheral vision pulled her out easily, the small, pale thing striking with a distinct air of unrehearsed gait.

He saw her and it came back. He saw the months of a smiling happy girl, her cheeky smile and soft voice singing to a baby. Then he saw her now; dirt and tear streaked. Her moves were getting sloppy, but there was an underlying determination in her gaze that brought back the content of Daryl's future nightmares.

After all, he was the one who had pressed the weapon into her hand in the first place. He had stood by her at the gates, heard the gut-wrenching cry for her daddy mingling with the scream of her sister. His eyes couldn't appreciate what he had seen, his eyes burning form the image as if it were some joke with an incomprehensible punch line. Yet somewhere separate, a different part of his brain registered the sound of total heart-break. Then the sound of hushed nothing. Then the sounds of war.

The gun he had given her had been discarded, at some point it had been thrown away useless to her. He watched her small wrists from a moment moving quickly, twisting sharply with a lost rhythm of pain. For every walker she took down another two had been distracted over. She was battling a losing war, yet still battling in a dazed rage.

He walked over, guided by the leading voice in his head, taking down walker and walker to get to her. She didn't notice him until he spoke in a gravelly voice, it sounding foreign and too human for where they were and what they were doing. Time was rushed and yet it felt like they'd been fighting for decades.

''We gotta go, Beth, we gotta go''

The fighting was over. They had lost. He took her hand, his own voice and body running three times ahead of his sluggish brain. Her eyes were large and blue, taking an eternity staring into his own like he might make her see some sense in the needlessness of recent events, some compassionate explanation of what was going to happen. There was none to offer, nothing for him to provide or say to shelter her from the horrors of their world. He imagined seeing a small part of her die right then in that moment, and with a last breathy tug at her arm he left the little piece of her and the little piece of him stood there gazing at the smoking remnants of their home, as what was left of them turned their backs and ran.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Hello beautiful people! This one is a bit late, I haven't even seen the latest episode (which is super surprising) because I've been trying to catch up on reading for the four essays I have coming up so my pace will inevitably slow down- however, then it will be Christmas so….! _**

**_To the wonderful criticism I have been thus far given, thank you and I'm sorry I'm far too impatient when it comes to proof-reading. I know I miss a lot of mistakes in my haste but I hope you will forgive me. :D xxx_**

**Running**

From the prison you can see out across the empty plains of nearby Georgia. The woods stretched wide and the tangle of grey roads were slowly being reclaimed by the landscape. The same road that had led them there. Hours upon hours of watching this landscape from the tower and even longer traipsing across it in hunt of food and supplies should have been enough to give them a head start to survival. But Daryl's head was jumbled, the sharp focus he had earlier maintain was slowly slipping into the natural panic he felt whenever the 'homes' he and merle made turned into nothing. This was just the same. He cursed himself for investing in himself. It had never done any good.

But for now he was running alongside her. She was panting heavily, and ugly look of fear driven exhaustion on her face- as it should be. She had a thin knife clutched in a clenched fist, he had another blade and his crossbow. It wasn't enough. But at this point four solid walls wouldn't feel like any protection either. She kept up at least, the leanness lending itself to a swift grace, her determination boring into the far away tree line.

Merle used to run, he ran from everything. His home, the law, his own conscious reality. Daryl had been dragged halfway across Georgia and back in pursuits of a 'fresh-start'. Nothing in his cared enough to ditch out of the mobile lifestyle, to settle somewhere and get to know people. His own family preservation seemed stupid, nights at the prison he considered what he had missed in the old world by reflection of the new. Now he was sorry he hadn't run when merle asked him to. It was painful to leave, each step felt like he was once again turning his back to a constructed dream, and crumpled and destroyed as it currently was, it still struck a chord.

He was leaving the last place he saw his brother alive. He was leaving the vast majority of his family. Leaving Hershel and probably Rick. He was leaving the manmade haven where he was appreciated. One foot in front of the other as he chose to leave.

The fields fell out before them, her stumbling fall setting his own preoccupied mind into hitting the ground gruffly. It was here the exhaustion hit them. All his energy seemed to leave him, the will to keep going extinguished to nothing without the momentum to keep him going. Besides him she breathed heavily, either dry sobbing or winded from the fall he didn't know. He knew he had to get up, to get her up. They had to keep running. But his body was lifeless, sprawled on the ground with the moans of walkers coming in close.

He could die here.

He could lie here and wait. Eventually one of these sons of bitches would find him and do the deed. It would all be over. He wouldn't be tired anymore, he wouldn't hurt all over and be stuck inside his own head as the desperation took over and he became the pathetic excuse of a man merle used to say he was. None of that had to happen.

His feet found purchase and he pulled himself up, rolling his shoulder so it clicked ominously. He shook his head to dislodge any further thought, deciding that it was better for him to stop considering his own self-pity and that he had to be alert to the further afield dangers of the real world. His head was sufficiently out of the cloud for maybe a minute, as he took down a few walkers, observing the general area and considering what the best strategy was going to be. Plan flicked through his head, a flame of warmth flickered in his chest, purring with the need to construct and follow a plan of some sort.

Then he saw her. And once again his mind flickered to the annoying sentiments of his panic. She was a literal representation of everything that had changed him. She was the home that he had lost, sprawled out on the dirt with tear tracks and mucus cover her pathetically. She was a feeble and weak dream, something he had taken time to invest in. Only he didn't want to invest in it anymore.

With a heavy heart he called her name, her eyes caught his. They were dead of emotion, shiny with the remainder of tears but the general appearance of her was one of exhausted emotion, a core numbness. Sitting up seemed to take it out of her. The long grass smell tickled his nose in the cold wind as he waited for her crackling joints to stand up. He offered a hand. The small warmth of it felt like a burning strap around his palm, forcing him to pull back his hand as soon as she had to feet beneath her. He missed the reproachful look by turning around and walking briskly away for her to catch up, the offended hand wrapped around his crossbow strap like it might protect him from the radiating guilt she had branded him with.

God, how she must blame him.

He was aware, far too aware, that he was forcing a young girl across unknown parts of a state he knew next to nothing about either. She had lost everything and he had had nothing, on the face of it, to lose. He couldn't give her compassion or soft words. No, he was cold and stoic. And she hated him.

Nowhere in Daryl's mind did he consider that he had saved Beth, that she was grateful to him pulling her out the crazed stupor of her own sadness so that she hadn't died. Inside her chest the thoughts of a home they had yet to make fluttered; where she and Maggie could put her father's teachings to good use. And Daryl would help her find her sister and the others, they would rebuild and that was all down to him. It was the childish, girlish thoughts of this hope that kept Beth a pace behind Daryl for the next few hours.

Her own mind was buzzing with a central optimism, whilst his shut down the path ways to pessimism. He built a small fire as she read the cursive script of a diary that no longer held any truth, allowing the words to curl and burn in justified equality of the truth. The smell of fire, its ashy liveliness seemed reflective of her family's farm, the smell of a burning barn and now a burning prison. Perhaps it's the way memory works. That destructive powers, like flames, only reminded her of places they had lost and not the dozens of harmless campfires she had smelt when making food. It strengthened her resolve. Their next home would not burn down.

They made their camp. His resolutions as strong as hers, but backed by a ferocity only years of stubbornness brings forward. He grew weary of entreating hope, deciding that he had let him down too oft now. She was too happy to encourage the painful thoughts, which hit his conscience like splinters.

''We should do something'' and ''We have to find the others''

He had remained silent too long, lost in his own hopelessness. He had her to look after and as far as he was concerned he was the last one left. They couldn't go around wasting time and energy to find dead people, there was no one left for him.

''Daryl please-''

He may not have heard it. It was so quiet that he pretended he didn't, getting up and walking around the fire as if checking the area. The space and his pacing gave way to her giving up, her hair lay in the dirt, evoking a strange anger within his stomach, her shoulders and knees pulled into her chest cocooning herself from the world. He wished it were that easy for him to sleep.

Still her hope burned him. It branded him a coward so he decided the only thing left to do would be to stamp out the candle entirely, no matter what harm that might do.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Thank you for all the lovely messages and encouragement on all my stories- I show good reviews to my flatmates 'cause I'm all warm and fuzzy… :D_**

**_In relation to this story, im now struggling with whether or not to stick to the plot of the real walking dead or take some artistic license, your thoughts?_**

The Flu

He kept dragging her around. He knew he shouldn't, oh he was well aware that he shouldn't be doing that. His own anger was stifling her, leaving her glaring at him reproachfully when she wasn't too busy pitying him from a far. He really couldn't stand this girl. More and more she was just there. A constant pounding reminder in his head that the prison happened, that he existed and that there was nothing he could do.

She was covered in grime. Her top was snagged in several places. Red lines ran along her arms from flyaway braches. He wondered how much worse he must look. Probably like death. He felt like it. She bit into the snake, pulling a face and chewing it as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Not that he would, or could, blame her for that thought.

Finally she snapped, putting the snake aside and sighing.

''I want a drink.''

He knew what she meant. He grew up with Merle of course he knew what she meant. But still he sarcastically passed her the water bottle, hoping it would shut her damned mouth up. She huffed at him, standing up and walking away. Maybe he had finally gone and pushed her away.

It didn't matter that it was Beth Greene. It didn't matter that he had held her when she'd cried or he had gone out of his way to help Maggie get her birthday present. She couldn't be the special someone he wanted to talk to because that life had led him to this. He had nothing, nothing at all but the reminder of a family he had lost out on again. All he had was her.

They hadn't spoken properly, not since that damn flu. Near wiped them all out and left little preparation for the attack. If only they had been stronger. If only they hadn't lost so many.

The flu spread quickly. Thinking about it now seemed so far away, had that really only been days ago? The prison falling too, seemed an eternity or so. Beth seemed different though not even a fortnight ago had he run out her room firing arrows into walkers he once called friends. She seemed so much older in his memory.

He looked across as if to prove a point. She was throwing rocks to distract some walkers, standing independently from him as if she were allowed to leave. If having her there was a bad enough reminder, then losing her hope would kill him. Only he couldn't even admit that to himself.

He grabbed her arm, hoping to pull her back to camp, his anger flaring over the internal thought of apologising. She glared at him, struggling and swearing at him in a ridiculous fashion. He wanted to laugh at the childish threat she posed. He wanted to cry at the innocent she still had.

There was something of Maggie in the way she looked at him, a defiant stance of confidence that could get her killed. Her eyes grazed over him, back on their camp as she realised she was standing back on square one. Then she did the last thing he thought she would do. She started walking, saying nothing at all. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do but pick up his shit and follow her across the damn woods. They kept a few good feet of animosity between them, buffering their anger with enough space so that neither one of them could snap at the other. Tired, scared and hungry they walked.

He never got to hear her thoughts. How she had been so happy he survived the prison, before that the flu. She had been locked up with Judith and they both missed his strange awkward company. She never told him 'thank you' for petting her hair as she slept, or arming her correctly. It didn't even cross her mind anymore that this man was the same one who showed such sweetness. Instead she was running on empty, nothing but optimism in her tank and not enough time to stop and ask him what the hell his problem was. Instead she had to believe he would come around and be the man he used to be.

The golf club was eerie. Not her best idea, but hey he didn't stop her. She just about deserved it when that walkers fought with her, the bottle just staking him as his heart beat a bit too loudly for his own indifference. There was a gruff joke in honesty of his voice.

''Said you could take care of yerself- y'did.''

It was, what could only be described as, shocked relief that short circuited his anger momentarily. The praise made her look at him with those round blues of hers, the walker gore hanging off her. He didn't know why that made her more likable.

They kept searching through the club.

And piece by piece he stated seeing Beth as Beth again. She worried about the dead, saying it mattered what happened to them. Her soft voice made him think of merle, and what he would want for his brother. So he got the blanket and covered the damn walker up.

He couldn't help thinking he had underestimated her.

''Come on, yer first drink ain't gonna be no damn peach schnapps.'' The words felt foreign on his tongue, his own motives totally unclear. All he knew was somewhere between entering this hell hole with her, a light had switched on in his head. Beth was at the bar; young and lost. And all she had to show for it was a grumpy redneck and a few blood stains. She deserved more than that.

Even if more meant moonshine.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hey guys! So sorry I've been away again for so long, I had my final university essays of the year to do so understandably they took precedence. And then I just got lazy by writing a different story and distracting myself with new fun ideas! But I do like this story and it now has an obvious point to go to before I decide if I continue or leave it. Thank you again for your support and hope you had a good year!**_

_**Oh, and of course extra special thank you to my best friend who wrote out all the argument lines for me because I was cold and didn't want to. **_

_The Argument that Changed it All_

It was a small cabin. Something like the hell-hole he had grown up in, in fact, far too similar for his determined pessimism of the moment. But for her it was new. Perhaps that was what highlighted the differences between them: that she instantly sat down, feeling at home in the protection of wooden walls- relieved that the wooden panelling trapped her from the outside world. Whereas he, well, he looked around the place his skin crawling back to memories, arms tight by his sides and talking to himself to just do what he had planned.

Places like this put him on edge. Because Dixon's, and the like, were like cockroaches. It took more than just the undead rising to kill of low-lives, just look at him. They thrived in this world. And though he knew that this place was empty, that Michonne and he had emptied it months ago, there was still this overriding anxiety that a man like his father might come back for him. On a deeper level, he was irrationally angry that time had brought him back to a place like this again.

And instead of looking at the differences, the blonde woman next to him and the strength of his character, he looked at the things that hadn't changed for him.

She was sat comfortably, her back against the old arm chair. A small smile played on her lips, it was her realisation that, as he passed her the small plastic cup of liquor, that a conscious change was coming between them. Kindness was like water to a parched man for her, the small amount of delegated care Daryl had begun to show her made a hole grow- wanting to suck him in further and share their compassions in a manner that they once had. Only Daryl didn't know that.

She laughed inwardly as he sat down heavily, memories of family games flittering through her mind. And for a moment they were allowed to play normal, happy families. She thought of Christmases and rainy weekends, fighting over pieces of board games, and then she thought of the (whole two) parties she had attended with her friends and what Maggie had told her of them. It seemed somehow silly and juvenile to explain the game to him, but he sat opposite her in the dingy hut to play anyway.

He watched her explain, her fingers pressing against each other awkwardly as she looked at his face. There was still that trace of childhood innocence in her, and in the setting it made him slightly queasy, so instead he poured a bit more moonshine and waited for her to start.

''I never-'' her voice died for a moment in thought, ''shot a crossbow. So now you drink-'' she looked at him, smiling encouragingly as he rolled his eyes at the entire idea of a drinking game.

''Ain't much of a game.''

''That was a warm up! Now you go.'' He could hear the smile behind her laugh, the moonshine hitting her already growing excitement and making it grow further. He had never heard her sound so confident with herself, and so he decided to let her drag him along. After all no harm in a game right. Only he had no idea what he was meant to say, even if he was considering playing along with the young girls rules for once. So instead he did what he did best, grunted and shrugged, a panic of embarrassment about to flare. When- she spoke for him:

''Say the first thing that pops in your head.''

He looked at her. Pale and weak, mostly likely the last thing he was going to be able to remember of his family. He imagined how long she'd last and, morbidly, how it would happen. He thought of these things too often, as he slept or, recently, if he let his mind wander. But right now he thought instead of their limits. Stuck in shed in a wood in a state he called home but had never really settled in-

''I never been out of Georgia-'' it was uncertain, the thought trail a bit pessimistic but she only blinked slowly at him, tilting her head a tiny bit to the side. The bit of hair by her ear was straighter than most days, the waves dropping with the weight of her own sweat.

''Really?'' He nodded to consent, and she picked up her cup. ''Okay- good one.''

''I've never been drunk and done something I regretted,'' the sip of moonshine seemed to vitalise her more, though he was surprised she didn't pull more of a face at the harsh taste of liquor. He bet her statement could have ended at her never having been drunk, but the vulnerability of admitting that seemed, for a teenager, to still inspire a hint of shame. He smirked inwardly at the mental image of Beth stood awkwardly near real teenagers, stone-cold sober and anxiously checking her watch and phone for fear of rocking the boat of her father's rules. So he drank, savouring the burn of the alcohol and sighing as he restrained any memories of the countless things he had done and regretted.

''I done a lot of things-'' he let it out more for himself, or some acknowledgment of the sheer number of stupid stuff Merle had him do, and his own mistakes on top of that. And then he wanted to take it back, to lock up the admittance in a box because she couldn't understand what 'a lot' really meant. She took up his hint to move on with a gentle 'your turn' merely moving her shoulder a little so she could sit up straighter, a look of pondering on her face.

''I never been on vacation.''

''What about campin'?'' The twang in her accent was becoming more pronounced, alarm bells rang in his head as he realised that her Dutch confidence was leading to curiosity. And he couldn't figure out why he answered her.

''No that just something I had to learn-'' and it seemed so strange to have to explain something to someone so far removed from him, ''-to hunt.''

''Your dad teach you?'' He watched her face a second, imagining what it would be like to have the mental image of a father that showed fair and just love for his children, instead of the image he had of what a vindictive father was like. But he didn't want to ruin that. He wanted Hershel to be the only thing she thought of at the word 'father', to think of love and bible stories and comfort. He grunted, shrugging the subject off heavily as if it could be dropped without her thinking about it. She didn't need a window to get into his head, god, she did that too often already and the last thing he wanted was to be drunk in a cabin with a blonde teenager pulling apart the broken pieces of his soul.

''I've never been in jail…I mean as a prisoner.'' She smiled a bit at her own joke, and he felt a twinge of pain at the mention of the prison. How could she joke about that place how could she even think about it? His misunderstanding flared to awkwardly settling on her resumption and a part of him felt so belittled by her innocence.

''That what you think of me?'' and he knew it was so he didn't know why he asked. Perhaps it was some form of warning to her, but he honestly just hated that she was a product of classist attitudes, no matter how naïve her intentions may have been.

''I didn't mean anything serious, just like the drunk tank- even my dad locked in that back in the day.''

''Drink up.''

''Wait- prion guard were you a prison before?'' Now he knew it was the drink, her voice was too quick and he wondered if that's the preppy kind of way she spoke before when she was happy. When she had a real life. His mind flittered back to Zach a moment, pausing on how he spent his days trying to guess. But Zach made him think of her- and he was angry that he was more upset that's she had adjusted to the hopelessness before he had- when she had been so broken before.

He stood up, brushing off the irrational hatred of the world that had begun to cloud his judgement. He hated who he had been in the old world and as he shouted at her about him taking a piss his only thought was to prove he was still the same low-life that he had been all those years ago. She would see him he decided, how hoity-toity bitches would have. Because nothing changed, men like him, they lived because they were born in the grit. He couldn't go down further, where she had fallen off her horse beside him in the sand. He couldn't be liked. He couldn't be loved. He couldn't be saved. And even though they were next to each other now, he bet she still would be.

Damn privilege.

''Oh wait, it's my turn right? I never, uuh, ate frozen yoghurt, never had a pet pony…never got nothing from Santa Claus …never relied on anyone for protection- hell, I don't think I even relied in anyone for anything!''

''Daryl'' the anger had exploded at her, but he didn't care, red face he ignored her confused childishness.

'I've never sung for a big group of people like everything was fun- like everything was a big game. I sure as hell never cut my own wrist looking for attention-''

He could see each word hit her like a punch, though she didn't move a muscle, her eyes took each insult. If he looked close enough, a voice told him, he'd see them settle in her heart. But he couldn't care, instead the words kept rolling out his mouth in a burble of hatred and anger.

He had wondered how a man could look at his own flesh and blood, barely six years old, and have such hatred for it. His entire life he had questioned the level of indecency to hit a child and pull it down to its knees whenever it tried to stand. He hadn't known there was such anger that blinded you to the point of irrationality. That you can pick a target because it's weak enough to bend and give you something to feel good about. That venting anger, and the feel of bruising the flesh of another so they hurt too, relieved some chilly vice grip of jealousy in your heart if only for a second. But now he understood.

He understood because he had been yelling at her and pulling her around as she screamed at him to stop in the same fearful tone both he and his mother had. He understood because he knew how scared she was and also how angry he was. He understood the total injustice of the world that he had been left with the weakest member of his family, only for her to be stronger than him.

Because he had become his father.

He let go of her, letting her push back against him and listening to her shrill cries. And they stopped looking at each other in a moment of total disorientation. And suddenly they weren't talking about what they were talking about anymore.

''No, you were being a jackass, if anyone had found my dad-'' her eyes widened at her own mention of him, eyes welling up as her chest heaved with heavy breathing.

''Don't,'' it was a strangled sob, ''they ain't remotely the same-''

And she saw her error, trying to back track the conversation to the walker as if a new can of worms hadn't just been opened. But his mind was reeling and all the guilty thoughts he kept tied to his chest were falling away, being exposed and the further he tried to distance himself the quicker the wall seemed to crumple around him.

''What do you want from me girl?''

''I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything! like nothing we went through matters, like none of the people we lost meant anything to you-its bullshit!'' her voice was raised again, a picture of her fights with aggie so long ago as her cheeks flared pink and her eyebrows furrowed.

''Is that what you think?''

''That's what I know!'' She ignored him to continue, pushing the yellow hair form her face as they leant into each other, threating the other to back off soonest. She shot off accurate truths, hitting herself more than it hit him. ''I know you look at me and see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie. But, I survived! And you don't get it, because I'm not like you or them- but I made it. And you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're – afraid-''

''I aint afraid o'nothin'-''

They stared at one another for a second. He waited for her to yell back like she was meant to do. She wasn't supposed to use a soft voice to hit below the belt. She wasn't supposed to tell him about Sophia, hell, she wasn't supposed to let him know she even knew about Sophia at all! She wasn't supposed to prove that he was afraid.

''I remember… when that little girl came out of the barn, after my mom, you were like me. I now god forbid you let anybody get too _close_.''

And damn, had she come _too close_ to the centre of his darkest regrets.

''Too close huh? You'd know all about that, lost two boyfriends and you can't even shed a tear- you're whole family is gone and all you can do is go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch.

''Screw you, you don't get it!'' She tilts her head at him, literally taking it on the chin. And he remembers how she begged him to look for the others. That she did try and look for them, that that was all she wanted but he was the one who didn't let her. That he was the one who took her searching for alcohol when he wouldn't look for her family. And suddenly he's irrationally angry that he's not hurting her.

''No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead-'' he's yelling as she protests, her voice louder than before and he gets a sick twist of pride for making her break that little bit. And though he knows he should leave well alone, he wants to twist her arm again. ''Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again- Rick! – you ain't ever gonna see Maggie again!''

He sees her hope break a little bit, the fighting light drop her shoulders a little as she fights off his scepticism for her own internal beliefs. But still the seed is planted and for the second time in the apocalypse she sees it. She sees defeat.

And the teenage girl became, even in her tipsy stupor more aware than ever of his pain. She conceded defeat, reaching out to touch his arm but too fearful to touch him. Her voice was soft, a fear that he was right coming through her need to end the argument.

''Daryl, just stop.''

She tried to do what he was too far gone to do. She saw where this road was leading, that the insecurities and guilt plagued him as much as they did her, and that feeding into them would let them destroy each other with words in a world where you already were only a step from total breakdown. She heard it in his tone of voice, her own fears as they got closer and closer to the cliff face.

He didn't remember what he said. Not exactly. Words and emotions came pouring out about the governor and the prison. He hoped he had said he was sorry, that it had been conveyed somehow in the lost translation of his words to his anger and his fear. And though he knew how deeply hidden that message was, he knew that if anyone picked up on them it would be her.

''Your dad-''

Her arms wrapped around him, small and tight he felt suffocated. But at the same time it felt like all the anxieties were being held back in, that she was pulling him back from lunacy with the warmth of her chest against his back and the small sounds of her own crying sobs. He started to shrug her off, afraid of what it meant to be weak. She didn't let him, fighting him back for the empathy for something he had never received. She was partly mother's love, partly asking for forgiveness and partly saving him from himself. So, instead, he hung his head, letting himself sob into the forest air.

People are fragile. People are the most fragile things in the entire world.

Daryl was a soft-centre, hard until you applied pressure where he would bend and break beneath your fingers. You pressed down and the entirety of his shell would crack. Beth was the opposite, a steely centre was wrapped precariously in paper-thin glass.

She held her heart out to him with bloody fingers to strengthen the weakness of his own.


End file.
